The Plots Against Hitler

by Danny Orbach

  Beck asked for permission to draw a pistol “for his own use.” Fromm consented, but asked him to “do that at once.” “Now I remember bygone days,” said Beck, but Fromm was in no mood for sentimentality. “We do not have time for that now,” he snapped. “Please go ahead.” A shot was heard, but Beck had managed only to injure himself. The former chief of the General Staff sat on his chair, bleeding and still holding the smoking pistol. “Help the old gentleman,” Fromm ordered one of the officers, who could not bring himself to follow orders.67 Beck was taken to an empty office and finished off there by an NCO.

  With Beck out of the way, Fromm was ready for his next move. He declared that he had summoned a court-martial “in the name of the Führer,” and sentenced four of the accused to death: “Colonel of the General Staff Mertz, Infantry General Olbricht, this colonel whose name I will not mention [Stauffenberg], and this Lieutenant [Haeften].” The four were duly led to the courtyard to face a firing squad, led by one of Remer’s junior commanders.68

  The countdown began a few minutes later, illuminated by the lights of a military car. Eyewitnesses said that the four stood calmly in front of the muzzles. Olbricht and Mertz died first, in silence. Then, the guns were aimed at Stauffenberg. In a last act of bravery and loyalty, Lieutenant Haeften jumped in front of his commandant to die first. Count Stauffenberg stood alone, surrounded by the bodies of his friends. The command to fire was broken by his last cry: “Long live our sacred Germany!”69

  A short while later, SD chief Ernst Kaltenbrunner, Otto Skorzeny, and their SS men arrived at the Bendlerstrasse. They did not help Remer and his soldiers to suppress the revolt. Probably, Skorzeny saw the conspiracy as an internal affair of the Wehrmacht and believed the army was responsible for clearing its own ranks. He and his men fettered the remaining conspirators to each other. Having done that, Skorzeny left the building and overheard Fromm saying, “I am going home. You know how to reach me by phone.” Then, he shook Kaltenbrunner’s hand and left.70

  At 1:00 a.m. on July 21, the citizens of the German Reich heard the voice of Adolf Hitler on all radio stations:

  For the third time an attempt on my life has been planned and carried out. If I speak to you today, it is first in order that you should hear my voice and that you should know that I myself am unhurt and well. Second, in order that you should know about a crime unparalleled in German history. A very small clique of ambitious, irresponsible, and at the same time senseless and criminally stupid officers have formed a plot to eliminate me and the German Wehrmacht command.

  The bomb was placed by Colonel Graf von Stauffenberg. It exploded two meters to my right. One of those with me has died. A number of collaborators very dear to me were very severely injured. I myself sustained only some very minor scratches, bruises and burns. I regard it as a confirmation of the task imposed on me by Providence to continue on the road of my life as I have done hitherto . . . Suddenly, at a moment when the German army is engaged in a bitter struggle, a small group emerged in Germany, just as in Italy, in the belief that they could repeat the 1918 stab in the back. But this time they have made a bad mistake . . .

  The circle of the conspirators is very small, and has nothing in common with the spirit of the German Wehrmacht, and above all none with the German people. It is a miniature group of criminal elements which would be ruthlessly exterminated . . . This time we shall get quits with them in the way that National Socialists are accustomed.71

  Why did the coup d’état fail? Israeli historian Frank Stern, an unrelenting critic of the military resistance and the men of July 20, 1944, has doubted not only the moral integrity of the conspirators and their motives but their military skill as well. The assassination attempt, he writes, “failed due to amateurish dilettantism.”72 Although Stern is not exactly an expert in military history, his views nevertheless merit some consideration. Did the conspirators really fail because they were “dilettantes,” amateurs clueless about military matters? Goebbels made the same insinuation. Even his little daughter, he said, would not have made silly mistakes like failing to cut his telephone line.

  An important clue for a different interpretation can be found, though, in the postmortem research of the Gestapo. The investigators who studied the dynamics of July 20, 1944, were astounded by the stiff, inflexible, nonrevolutionary behavior of many military conspirators:

  [Maj. Bernhard] Klamroth said: “I put the blame for the blunder first and foremost . . . on my insufficient determination. Most officers are helpless when encountering sudden problems outside their field of military expertise, and tend to try and solve them by orders.” What the direct superior orders is done, and what he does not order—is not done. Colonel Jaeger confirmed it, when answering for his failure to take measures for the revolt. “I did not do it because I was awaiting orders, as the big picture was still unclear to me.”73

  Contrary to the criticism of Frank Stern and others, the testimonies of Klamroth and Jaeger do not at all indicate that they were dilettantes or strangers to the military arts. In fact, the question of why such experienced officers failed so miserably is misplaced. The military profession is structured on a hierarchy of ranks, established channels of commands, and unconditional obedience to orders. Military professionalism usually requires cooperation, patience, and an ability to wait for the decisions of superiors, presuming that they have more knowledge of the “big picture,” just as Jaeger explained. True, sometimes the military profession also requires improvisation and quick decision making from junior officers, and cases of justified disobedience during war are not unheard of. But in most armies, such improvisation can be tolerated only in tactical questions—not in strategic, let alone political, ones.

  Operation Valkyrie was planned methodically over more than two years, and the effort, talent, and even imagination put into its planning were indeed remarkable. But there was a sting in the tail: the ringleaders adhered too tightly to the original plan, failing to act spontaneously as revolutionaries must. Stauffenberg was an exception, perhaps, but he was exhausted from playing the impossible double role of assassin and coup leader, even without considering the fact that he was seriously disabled.

  Indeed, sticking to the original plan, following accepted procedures of command, and being utterly unable to adjust to changing circumstances characterized most of the officers involved in the conspiracy. The best example is perhaps Klausing’s disastrous decision to dispatch the Valkyrie orders as top secret. This was not done out of stupidity or dilettantism; in fact, secrecy was an essential part of the Valkyrie orders from their earliest formulations, in 1942. Yet, in the staging (as opposed to the planning) phase of revolts, coups d’état, and revolutionary conspiracies of all kinds, secrecy becomes inconsequential. Speed is everything.74

  Klausing was not the only one who misstepped. Jaeger, too, failed to show enough initiative and creativity in commandeering troops. Colonel Müller, from the infantry school in Döberitz, went to Berlin to ask for written orders, causing a crucial delay. Stauffenberg relied on cooperation with outsiders, such as Remer, being certain that they would follow orders given by a superior. Indeed, sticking to accepted procedure, usually considered a military virtue, can be very harmful for conspirators and revolutionaries. In that sense, the events in Paris on July 20 are an exception that proves the rule. No one there asked for written orders to arrest the SS. A verbal command by Stülpnagel was enough. The governor also took care to send a trusted confidant with every arrest squad, in order to ensure that each one did its job.

  Hence, the conspirators of July 20, 1944, failed not because they were dilettantes but rather because they were excessively professional. A military revolt has some elements in common with military operations, and it presumes a certain kind of ordered, methodical work; but, at the end of the day, it is very different from a military operation. More than order, it requires improvisation, even wildness—an ability to ignore good caution and to leap into the unknown. The conspirators were educated soldiers, not
revolutionaries. No one had any training in the art of coup d’état. Nor could they take advantage of an oral lore of military revolutions, such as is the case in Middle Eastern, African, and South American armies. Professionals they were—just not at the right profession.

  “There is no going back for me anymore.”

  Colonel (later, Major General) Hans Oster was the key military leader of the German resistance in its early years. A cunning and resolute intelligence officer, he was constantly watching for opportunities to win over allies in the regime’s higher echelons.

  © Gedenkstätte Deutscher Widerstand

  "God knows that I risked everything only to save the youth, the men and the women of all countries from further misery.”

  Dr. Carl Friedrich Goerdeler was one of the founding fathers of the German resistance movement and the most important leader of its civilian wing. Deeply committed to strict rules of legality and morality, he crossed the line to illegality due to his opposition to the persecution of the Jews. Had the coup on July 20, 1944, succeeded, Goerdeler would have become the chancellor of Germany.

  © Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-1987-1223-501

  “Witzleben was a refreshingly uncomplicated man . . . who had his heart in the right place . . . a man firmly rooted in the chivalric traditions of the old Prussian officer corps.”—Hans Bernd Gisevius, To the Bitter End

  Field Marshal Erwin von Witzleben was one of the earliest conspirators in the German army and the commander-in-chief of the Wehrmacht in the resistance’s shadow government.

  © Reproduktion Gedenkstätte Deutscher Widerstand

  “My hope was to prevent greater bloodshed.”

  An introverted carpenter, Georg Elser initiated a sophisticated attempt to assassinate Hitler by planting a bomb set to explode during a Nazi ceremony. Alone and without help, he came the closest to killing the dictator.

  Schweizerisches Bundesarchiv Bern, E. 4320 (B) 1970/25, CH-BAR#E4320B#1970/25#2*, Az. C.02–102, Strasser, Otto, Dr., 1897, 1934–1939

  “I can with a clear conscience stand by all I have done in the battle against Hitler.”

  Colonel (later, Major General) Henning von Tresckow was a key leader in the German resistance and the mastermind of several attempts to kill Hitler. In his schemes, Tresckow used exploding liquor bottles, sharpshooters, and suicide bombers. Known as one of the most hard-line anti-Nazis in the resistance, he believed that Hitler had to be killed “like a mad dog.”

  © Reproduktion Gedenkstätte Deutscher Widerstand

  “If the generals have not achieved anything, it is time for the colonels to get involved.”

  Colonel Claus Schenk Graf von Stauffenberg, a dashing, aristocratic officer with a romantic bent, became the symbol of the German resistance to Hitler. As the last military leader of the conspiracy, he smuggled a bomb into Hitler’s briefing room in a bold attempt to kill the dictator, lead a coup d’état, and take over the government of the Reich.

  © Gedenkstätte Deutscher Widerstand

  Hitler’s briefing room after the explosion of Stauffenberg’s bomb, July 20, 1944. Mussolini, who visited the Führer the same day, was astounded that someone dared to launch an assassination attempt inside the regime’s supreme headquarters.

  © Bundesarchiv, Bild 146-1972-025-10

  “All great men in history had to face the decision, whether to be denounced by history or be remembered as saviors in times of emergency.”

  Colonel Rudolf-Christoph Freiherr von Gersdorff, an intelligence officer on the eastern front, was Henning von Tresckow’s confidant and assistant. He took part in several attempts to kill the Führer, and finally volunteered to blow himself up with the dictator during a tour in the Berlin armory.

  © Reproduktion Gedenkstätte Deutscher Widerstand

  The courtyard in the former compound of the Wehrmacht high command, on Bendlerstrasse in Berlin. Here, Stauffenberg and three of his coconspirators were shot on the night of July 20, 1944, after the failure of the coup d’état. In 1955 the street was renamed Stauffenbergstrasse to commemorate the leader of the coup. Today it is part of the German Resistance Memorial Center and the venue for induction ceremonies in the Bundeswehr, Germany’s federal army.

  © 2014 Gedenkstätte Deutscher Widerstand

  19

  The Shirt of Nessus

  A ship may sink, but does not have to strike its flag.

  —COUNT NIKOLAUS VON HALEM,

  when sentenced to death by the People’s Court in Berlin

  “A VERY SMALL CLIQUE . . . of criminally stupid officers . . . will be ruthlessly exterminated . . .” Hitler’s hoarse voice came out of Fabian von Schlabrendorff’s radio in the Second Army. The veteran conspirator, a crucial broker and Tresckow’s right-hand man, was deeply shocked. He understood that the coup had ended in failure.

  The news was devastating. The fact that Hitler named Stauffenberg probably meant that the admired leader of the conspirators had been arrested and executed; the Gestapo was destroying the resistance movement that very moment, and he and Tresckow were in immediate mortal danger.

  The hour was 1:00 a.m. on July 21, 1944. Schlabrendorff rushed to Tresckow’s room and woke him up with the bad news. Tresckow’s response was quick: “In the interrogation they will squeeze names out of me, and therefore I intend to shoot myself.” The man whose resolution served as the ideological compass of the resistance ship felt obliged to stay on board and sink with it. But, as Nikolaus von Halem would later say, even a sinking ship does not have to strike its flag—nor did Tresckow. He implored Schlabrendorff to not give out names of conspirators, and to go on living. He went on:

  Now they will all fall upon us and cover us with abuse. But I am convinced, now as much as ever, that we have done the right thing. I believe Hitler to be the archenemy not only of Germany, but indeed of the entire world. In a few hours’ time, I shall stand before God and answer for both my actions and the things I neglected to do. I think I can with a clear conscience stand by all I have done in the battle against Hitler. Just as God once promised Abraham that He would spare Sodom if only ten just men could be found in the city, I also have reason to hope that, for our sake, He will not destroy Germany. No one among us can complain about his death, for whoever joined our ranks put on the poisoned shirt of Nessus. A man’s moral worth is established only at the point where he is prepared to give his life for his convictions.1

  In the early hours of July 21, 1944, shortly before his death, Tresckow invoked an ancient Greek myth. The legend tells of Nessus the centaur, who cursed his shirt moments before his death. Subsequently, it brought a horrible end to everyone who wore it. There was no better metaphor for the enormous risk the conspirators had taken upon themselves, nor for the fate they would suffer after their defeat. “You know,” confided Tresckow to another friend, Maj. Joachim Kuhn, “as Beck’s subordinate I was the spiritual leader of the event that took place yesterday, even before Stauffenberg. I know the organization inside out, and feel, like Beck and Stauffenberg, responsible for the outcome. Therefore, my hour, too, has come.”2

  Tresckow took his leave from Kuhn on July 21, at first light. He went to his office, answered routine phone calls, and took care of some military matters. Even at this hour, his biographer Bodo Scheurig maintains, he felt responsible for his soldiers, who were being pressed hard by the Russians.3 He summoned Captain Breitenbuch, the conspirator who attempted to kill Hitler with a pistol in spring 1944, and opened his heart one last time. “I do not wish to give our enemy the pleasure of taking me alive,” he said. “I intend to go alone to the no-man’s land in the district of the 28th Division, to stage a battle . . . and end my own life. The impression will be that I died fighting partisans.” Finally, he said, “Goodbye until a better world.”4

  Tresckow entered a staff car and ordered his driver to move toward the front. En route, he stopped at the divisional headquarters, called Schlabrendorff, and asked, one last time, whether the terrible news was true or whether, perhaps, there were encou
raging developments. Schlabrendorff’s response was negative. Tresckow spoke cheerfully with the driver, but as the car neared no-man’s land, he became silent, sank deep in his seat, and turned his face to the sun. Finally, the car stopped at an abandoned field near the front line. The general told his driver to wait in the car, and then he disappeared into the woods. A few seconds later, the driver heard a barrage followed by the explosion of a hand grenade. Running through the trees, he saw Tresckow dead, his pistol resting by his side.5

  Thus, Henning von Tresckow escaped the fate in store for many of his comrades. Most of the conspirators present in the Bendlerstrasse had been arrested on the night of July 20. General Fromm, keen to cover his own involvement, executed four of them and “helped” one, General Beck, to end his own life. Others, such as Captain Klausing and Captain Hammerstein, escaped the building. The latter, who once played in the compound as a child, when his father was commander in chief of the army, knew the complicated building inside out and was able to find his way onto the street. Nevertheless, both he and Klausing were later found and arrested.